Legacy
by Dee Minor
Summary: Ayami of Queenscove has grown up with tales of warrior women, romantic ballads of beautiful knights winning favours and breaking hearts. However, she's about to discover that life as a page is anything but glamorous. Between injuries, feuds and an increasingly uncontrollable Gift, will she see the training through and become a squire?
1. Prologue

**(A.N. I published a version of this story called 'Expectations' a few months ago. I read through it a while ago, however, and decided to do a rewrite to make it flow better. I have most of the story drafted and will, hopefully, be updating once a week, depending on my work load.**

**Thanks for reading - I really do appreciate reviews. **

**Dee.)**

**Prologue**

Entering her parent's study, Ayami of Queenscove bowed deeply. Fitted out in green and silver – the colours of Queenscove – the room was gracefully furnished in a blend of Tortallan and Yamani decorations. Her mother's ornamental swords hung on one wall, by a watercolour of Lake Tirrigan, while her parents faced each other over a low table. A chess set sat between the pair – from a glance, she could tell her mother would win.

"Ayami," Yukimi rose gracefully and bowed to her eldest child. Nealan – her father and one of the most respected knights of his age – lurched clumsily to his feet with a grin. They made an odd couple. Her father, tall and lean, favoured dark green eyes – the colour of his gift – brown hair swept away from his forehead in a widow's peak and a thoroughly infectious smile. His wife was almost a foot smaller, with straight black hair and brown-black, lively eyes. Her face was still, as was Yamani custom, as she surveyed her daughter.

"Mama, Papa," Aya bowed again, as was proper. "Might I speak with you both?"

"Of course," Neal beckoned her to kneel on one of the cushions. She did so, Yamani-style, and accepted the tea her mother poured her. As an afterthought, she added two spoonfuls of honey to the mixture. Yuki's eyes crinkled, though her face remained still. Ayami's sweet tooth was family legend.

"What is it you wanted to discuss?" Yuki asked her.

"You asked me last month to start putting thought into my future," Aya replied, keeping her face still. She wasn't looking forward to her father's reaction.

"There's no rush," Neal assured her. "I was 14 when I decided to train as a knight. You're only 8 – take your time. Your mother's people aren't hasty. By the Gods, I hope you take after her, not me."

"Well," she frowned slightly. To a Yamani, it would have been an immediate giveaway, but in Tortall she appeared reserved, "my gift isn't strong enough to study at the university. I had thought to go to the convent in two years time, but..."

A thought – a thoroughly Tortallan thought, it must be said – had been hanging with her for weeks. She'd seen her aunt Kel tilt against some of the realm's more ferocious knights. She'd watched Lady Fianola – known as the Butterfly Knight for her speed and beauty – outshoot centaurs at a tourney. Her own mother was deadly with a _shukusen_.

"You want to train as a knight," Yukimi interpreted, face unreadable.

She didn't gape at her parents – didn't they know her better than anyone? – and nodded gravely.

"I wish to protect the realm as a Queenscove," she responded, meeting her father's eyes. Hadn't he done the exact same thing, when he chose to become a knight?

Without a word, Nealan stood up and swept from the room, lips tight with anger. About to follow him, she caught her mother's eye and settled herself. The woman looked amused, rather than concerned.

"Your father is dramatic," she told her young daughter in Yamani. "But he is learning patience. Give him time."

For the next hour or so, the two played chess and talked softly about Princess Shinkokami's birthday celebrations. Mother and daughter looked up, startled, as Neal burst back into the room. Aya would have bet that her father had been arguing with himself all this time.

"You're to start fencing lessons," he snapped at his daughter. "You're half the size of other girls your age – if you don't start now, you'll be eaten alive. And you're not cutting your hair!"

For a long moment, she stared at her father, before realisation sank in.

With a squeal of delight, she flung her arms around Neal's waist and raced from the room, pausing only to scramble a quick bow.

"Emry! Mai!" She shouted up to her younger siblings. "I'm going to be a knight! Father says!"

Massaging his temples, Neal slumped onto a cushion.

"I'd hoped to avoid this," he murmured, upset.

Yuki raised an eyebrow – a trick she'd learned since coming to Tortall.

"She is your daughter," she pointed out. "Adventure calls to her. It always has. Remember when she tried riding to Corus two years ago?"

Neal flashed a grin.

"She couldn't have been a silk-hiding-steel Yamani noble?" he asked, teasing. Yukimi rolled her eyes – some Tortallans thought that because Yamanis chose to hide their emotions, they were all supernatural warriors nurturing pearls of stoic wisdom. Just because a sensible woman carried a weapon and didn't blurt out her every thought, didn't mean she was some sort of fabled warrior-lily.

"She is too much like you," Yuki told him gravely. "She doesn't look it, but she's her father's daughter."

Neal's shoulders slumped.

"That's what I'm afraid of."


	2. The Palace

**The Palace**

Aya glared at her pony who, for her part, was intent on not moving. In two weeks she would go to the palace and be free of the cursed beast, but for now, as for the past 2 years, the mount stood stubbornly, swishing its tail.

"Pox and murrain," she muttered, scowling. Since spending the last summer in Corus, where she had found herself mingling with members of the King's Own and the Riders, she'd learned a plethora of curses to use against her stubborn pony. "There's donkey-blood in you, Merry, I swear it."

Snorting, the pony sat suddenly. With a yelp of shock, Aya tumbled into the mud. Hurling every bad word in her vocabulary at the creature, she looked up to see a tall figure leaning on the fence to the riding yard. Aya held back a flush at the sight of her Aunt Kel – she had enough respect for the older woman to hope she'd never see her do anything as graceless as fall from a horse.

"Aunt Kel," ignoring her now grazing pony, Aya approached the lady knight. Her father's best friend, Kel spent much of her time at the Queenscove's estates. Her own residences – a tiny fief south of Pirate's Swoop – was nothing compared to the old, rolling acres of Queenscove.

"Hello Aya," Kel nodded to Merry, who swished her tail at the pair. "Having fun."

Aya snorted, glaring at the beast.

"I thought we'd at least depart on good terms," she admitted ruefully.

"You should have seen my first horse," Kel approached the pony sternly. "Peachblossom, his name was. Nasty bruiser. Best mount I ever rode, but it took the wildmage to get him to stop bleeding me and let me ride him."

Aya whistled, suddenly grateful. Merry might be a stubborn ass at times, but she was a gentle creature.

"She's about ready to be put out to pasture," Kel said calmly, pretending not to notice the pony's ears go back. "She's obviously getting slow. You'll obviously do better with a palace mount. Still, for the next two weeks, you'll have to do what you can with the old girl."

The moment Ayami mounted, the pony kicked into a trot, swishing her tail proudly at Kel. The woman didn't smile, though Aya saw amusement in her level-brown eyes. Tortallan animals were more intelligent thanks to Daine the Wildmage's influence – her vain, silly Merry was no exception.

After her riding practice, she was delighted when Kel offered to go through fencing with her. In two years, she'd mastered the most basic blows and drills with some difficulty, impatient to get to real fighting. To her frustration, Kel refused to free-fight with her, saying that she continued to balance her weight poorly and that her right-side blows – the hand she was weaker with – were too soft.

"I can show you some arm-strengthening exercises," Kel offered as Aya slumped, dejected.

"That's okay," she assured her gods-mother. "I just need to practice more."

Kel frowned.

"Page training is very physical, Ayami," she told her adoptive neice. "Training twice a week with the sword isn't enough. Most boys your age will be bigger and stronger than you – if you want to keep up, you'll have to really put work into it."

"I will," Aya assured her, meaning it. She could already see herself, a warrior maiden like the ones in the ballads. Like Fianola of Tassride, or Freya of the K'mir.

Kel smiled, approving and headed back to the keep to start on her fief's accounts.

For the next half hour or so, Aya practiced drills before racing inside for dinner. Her mother insisted she wouldn't have to start packing until next week, but Aya was already quivering with excitement for her trip to the palace.

xXx

Lady Hannah of Haryse regarded the page before her coolly.

The girl swallowed, barely able to meet the training mistress's eyes. Lady Hannah had been in the second generation of women to try for her knighthood, just a few years after Keladry of Silversun had won her shield. The woman was extremely tall and wiry, and the cane she would use for the rest of her days made her appear no less tough or dangerous. Her severe, dark brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, giving her weathered face a skinless, skeletal look.

"You will study as a page for at least four years until you take your examinations," she spoke in a broad northern accent, skipping over her 't's as though she were trying to save on them. "Should a knight master select you as a squire, you will serve him – or her – until you are deemed ready to take your ordeal. In the morning, you will study fencing, tilting, archery and riding and your afternoons will be spent in the endeavour of teaching you to think." The woman leaned forwards impressively, like a falcon swooping in on its prey. "I warn you now – academics are a compulsory part of your study. Don't think you needn't bother with philosophy or mathematics because you're training to be a knight. The mind is like the body – it needs exercise to remain sharp. Sloppy thinking costs lives. You'll stay in the girls' wing of course. You're allowed boys in your room, but the door must remain open. Do you have any questions?"

"No my lady," she croaked out nervously.

Hannah frowned for a moment before smiling thinly.

"Keep your wits about you girl," she advised. "Work hard, but remember to make friends too." The knight stood with a wince, nodding to her new student. "I expect excellent things of the pages I train, Josaline of Marti's Hill. Do yourself and your family credit."

Nodding to Quinden of Marti's Hill, Josaline's father, Hannah instructed her maidservant, Gilly, to send in the next page.

Leaving the training mistress's office, Josie let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"She's strict, but fair," Quinden informed her shortly. "I worked with Hannah of Haryse in the Tyran war 15 years ago. She was a green knight then and one of the best unarmed fighters I've ever come across. Do well by her."

"I will father," Josie replied sincerely. She had the reputations of dozens of excellent female knights to uphold. She would excell in her training, she knew.

"Good," Quinden regarded his daughter coolly before sighing. "I know you are not suited to convent life Josaline, and times are such that even a girl may train as a knight without shaming her family. But if you feel you fall behind in training, if you feel unable to keep up with the boys, you must come home to us. Better to be kept at home than fail at the palace."

For a moment, her throat caught, torn between fury and amusement. At last, she nodded.

"I will not fail, father," she told him, voice firm.

His response – _you already have_ – remained unspoken. Neither of them needed to repeat the furious arguments of the last year regarding Josie's future. At last it had been her mother, the tiny, timid Louella of Fenrigh, who had put her foot down and decreed that Josie could try for her shield. Quinden never could argue with his wife, when she actually showed an opinion.

"I'll see you to your rooms," he offered. "The head of the palace servants – what was her name again?"

"Kiama," Josie remembered the plain, no-nonsense Kyprian.

"Kiama. If she knows what she's doing, she'll have had your things moved to  
your room. All you'll have to do is make your way to the end of the corridor when the supper bell rings."

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say to the other. They had never been close and there farewell was doomed to be rushed and insincere.

"I can't wait to get a proper mount," a voice piped up from down the corridor. "Not like that stubborn pony back home."

"The palace animals are stranger than your Merry," an amused voice responded. "With the Wildmage's influence and all."

As Josie and her father rounded a corner, she stared at the small Yamani girl – almost a half a foot smaller than Josie's 4 feet and 1 inch. Her face was pretty and delicate and she kept her long dark hair swept into a plait at the back of her head. Beside her was a tall, handsome man of her father's age. The two men froze when they saw each other.

"Quinden," the strange man nodded, eyes flicking to Josie. Amusement tinged his green eyes. "I heard your daughter was Aya's age."

Quinden nodded stiffly, ignoring 'Aya' entirely. The two girls regarded each other curiously for a moment before being forced to scramble to catch up with their respective parents.

"Nealan of Queenscove," Quinden explained shortly. "Doddering idiot, if you ask me. He was always making trouble for me and my friends during our page years."

"How does that girl plan on being a knight?" Josie asked, confused. "She looks like a breeze would knock her over. And she hasn't even cut her hair!"

The corners of Quinden's mouth twitched – clearly he approved of Josaline's disdain for the tiny Yamani.

After a brief, excruciating goodbye to her father, she settled into her room and began to unpack, shaking her head over the folly of silly girls.

* * *

**Opinions? Thoughts? Loved it? Hated it? Wish a horrendous death upon me and all I hold dear for writing yet another 'Neal's Daughter' story? Hannah of Haryse likes being written, Quinden wants nothing more to do in any of my stories and Josaline and Ayami already want to fight, if you're up for thrilling insights into my daily writing life. **

**I adore reviews and those who write them. I promise that this is going to be a completed story, not a perpetually disappointment for those looking for updates. Once a week. This is my vow. I underwent an Ordeal of Fanficking and everything.**


	3. Sponsor

**Sponsor**

Aya ignored unpacking in favour of stretching out on her bed. It was a decent enough room, she decided. She had a good-sized bed, a wood stove for the winter months and a small adjoining privy and dressing room. A plain oak wardrobe and set of drawers stood at one end of the room for clothes while shelves lined the adjacent wall. The view from her window showed a beautiful garden, gold and green in the early autumn air.

Sighing contentedly, she began to unpack her things. Her maid, Lora – she would have gone without a maid, but her Aunt Kel insisted it would make life easier – would be along after supper to help with the unpacking, but Aya wanted to do some alone. First, a collection of books found their way to the shelves. Unable to decide which books to bring, she had taken her entire collection of Yamani poetry, several books on philosophy, history and languages and a small, weathered volume entitled 'The Seeing Gift: Techniques for a Young Mage'. The author was a distant Yamani relative of hers, or so she was told.

Her ornaments went up next – a beautifully carved wooden grffin (a midwinter gift from her father's cousin, Dom) went on one shelf along with a small, decorative Yamani shrine. The wooden lacquered box opened to the shape of a small temple complete with miniatures of the gods Sakuyo the trickster, Manami the sea goddess and Yuuta the Warrior. Pockets to hold sticks of insense lined the delicate structure.

She was mostly unpacked when she looked up into the garden outside. There was time yet until supper and she decided that a walk in the open would help calm her. Her mother's friend, Lady Haname, advised her rash, Tortallan children godschildren to meditate often in the stillness of nature. Usually, Aya prefered to read in the stillness of somewhere warm where she wouldn't get sunburnt, but there was wisdom in the older woman's words. Slipping into the kimono she planned to wear for dinner – for the most part, she'd have to wear rough breeches and tunics, so she decided to take every opportunity she had to wear pretty clothes – she opened the lower shutters fully and walked out into the garden.

The path extended on either side of her, following the buildings. Wandering round, she saw that the garden was in the shape of a large oval. It was smaller than she'd thought at first, and more closed off. The building framed most of the area like a horseshoe. The little remaining area was guarded by magic making it impossible for humans to pass. _It must be only for us pages_, she thought, intrigued. Following the winding stone path behind a clump of bushes, she froze.

A low stone table stood at the centre of the garden. Sitting there reading was a beautiful girl of about 13. She wore no veils, but her dark skin and straight nose and cheekbones suggested she was Bazhir.

"Can I join you?" Aya asked, hiding her nerves behind a calm, smiling face.

Startled, the other girl looked up from her book and blinked at Aya. Slowly, she grinned.

"You are a new page," it was a statement, not a question, and Aya could only nod in response. The girl beckoned to the seat beside her which Aya took gratefully.

"I am Sofiya Abn Ajar, of the Grey Sand tribe." the other girl told her. She spoke slowly, as if considering every word before saying it.

"Ayami of Queenscove," Aya responded with a cheery grin. She liked serene people, even if she wasn't among them. "Are you the only one here? I'd have thought everyone would be out on a day like today."

Sofiya shook her head.

"The garden can only be accessed from the girls' wing." She explained. "Years ago, the female pages petitioned to have their own place to go and relax. Aside from you, I am the only girl in training."

Aya gaped – this entire place was just for the girls? There were only three of them!

"Well, there's three of us now," she managed, still shocked. "I saw a girl heading to the pages' wing while I went to speak with Lady Hannah."

Sofiya's face lit up at the news. Aya sympathised. The one aspect of her training she had come to dread was having little female company.

"The boys are a decent sort," Sofiya admitted fairly. "My best friend is Edmond of Goldenlake – he's in my year."

"Oh, I know Edmond," Aya smiled at the sight of a red squirrel clinging to the trunk of a tree, eyeing them expectantly. "Our fathers are friends. I'm sorry, Mr Squirrel – I haven't any food."

The squirrel made an indignant chattering noise.

"I'm sorry. _Miss _Squirrel. Maybe I can come back when I've finished supper?"

Sofiya produced a bag of raisins from her pocket with a grin.

"I was snacking earlier," she explained as she held the fruit to the creature. Cautiously, it approached and nibbled the treat. Within seconds, an army of small rodents flocked around Sofiya, one even climbing up her leg, demanding their own food.

Laughing, the Bazhir got to her feet and made an escape towards her room, scattering fruit behind her to keep the animals from her track. Aya followed and found herself scrabbling through the window to a room very similar to her own.

For a few moments, the girls stood giggling at the boldness of the animals as Aya surveyed the room.

Sofiya didn't have nearly as large a book collection as she did, but weapons racks lined the walls holding a beautifully made battle-axe which looked far too heavy for the older girl to even lift, 3 bows, a practice-sword, lance and, to Aya's surprise, a glaive.

"My father bought it for me last midwinter," Sofiya explained when she saw Aya staring. "I hear that Yamani noble-women use them."

"That's right," Aya agreed. "My mother's like lightning with a glaive, and my Aunt Haname. Even the Queen used to train with one. I'm not very good with it."

"You should practise," Sofiya suggested. "It is not my favourite weapon, but – forgive me – you are smaller than most people. A pole arm would serve you well."

"I've time yet to see what weapon will suit me," Aya shrugged. A small part of her cringed at the memory of agonising glaive-practices. "Who knows? Maybe I'll fell a hundred foes with a battle-axe."

Sofiya grinned.

"Perhaps you will." The supper bell rang at last, causing Aya to realise how hungry she was. "Come on Queenscove – we will get some supper in you."

xXx

Aya found herself cornered off with 4 other pages who looked to be in her year. The others – an assortment of 20 or so lads – gathered around, looking curiously at the new trainees. In particular, their gazes settled on Aya and the other girl. Since women had been permitted to train as knights, there had been a definite divide in quality, her Aunt Kel had explained to her once. Dealing with the amount of pressure caused by being physically smaller than many of her peers and often ostracised because of her sex, a female page had two choices: determine to be better than her year-mates and become a credit to her training, allowing pure stubborness to fuel her progress, or give up entirely. Aya suspected that many of the boys were trying to determine which category she fell into.

Among her fellow first years, Aya noticed the blonde, snub-nosed girl she'd seen earlier. With translucent eyebrows and lashes and large, watery blue eyes, the girl looked washed out and tired, though steely determination shone behind her eyes. A burly, red-haired boy stood to the other girl's left, while to Aya's right she saw a tall, swarthy page with a mop of dark hair and a long, straight nose beside a tiny, slender youth whose hair was red-brown. She was the smallest of the new pages, smaller even than the boy on the end, but she didn't mind. Alanna the Lioness was tiny, after all. She saw, and waved to Edmond. Maybe he would sponsor her?

At last, Lady Hannah marched down the corridor, her sharply clicking cane announcing her presence.

"Welcome back," Lady Hannah surveyed her charges severely. "I trust you all kept your training up over summer? Your bodies won't thank you if you slacked off on the training harnesses for two months."

Mixed groans came from some of the second-year pages. None of the older pages made a sound – Aya figured they'd already learned their lesson the hard way. Lady Hannah flashed them a wry grin before moving on.

"We have 5 new pages. Each will be selected by a sponsor to show them the palace ways for their first year." She gestured to the assortment of ten year olds to her left. She turned to the first boy with what was supposed to be an encouraging smile.

"Your name and fief?"

If the small boy was as nervous as Ayami, he didn't show it. Instead, he looked rather bored as he replied,

"Joshua of Irenroha."

"And who will sponsor Joshua?" Several hands went up. After a long moment, Hannah pointed to a cheery-looking red head.

"Liam of Nond," she frowned severely, causing his grin to widen. "I'm entrusting you with responsibility. Try to ensure that Joshua does not commit any criminal actions by the end of the year."

"I can make no guarantees my lady," the boy bowed, "but certainly I shall try."

Laughter rippled round the pages, easing some of Aya's tension. Maybe the training mistress wasn't as strict as she appeared?

"And perhaps he will teach you some manners, boy," Hannah went on, glaring at her charge. She turned to the dark boy – Leon of Nicoline – who was quickly sponsored by Hondan of Meron.

At last she turned to Ayami.

"Your name and fief?"

"Ayami of Queenscove, my lady," she responded, ignoring a giggle from somewhere behind Hannah. If her fellow pages had never seen a girl in a dress, it was high time they learned.

She'd been half-expecting Edmond to sponsor her, but, to her surprise, Sofiya stepped forward instead. She was delighted – she already liked the calm Bazhir girl – but glancing at the two remaining pages, she saw that the blonde girl was glaring at her. Confused, she offered the other girl a bland smile. Was she resentful that the only older female page had chosen to sponsor Aya instead of her?

"And you?" Hannah turned to the blonde with another of those razor smiles.

"Josaline of Marti's Hill," the girl's voice boarded on anger, Aya realised with shock.

"Who will sponsor Josaline of Marti's Hill?" Instantly, Edmond of Goldenlake stepped forwards to volunteer. Aya smiled in relief. She would hate for a resentment to start so early and Edmond would make an excellent sponsor for the other girl. Finally, Lucan of Eldorne was sponsored to Seanus of Dissart and the pages could go to supper.


	4. Training

**It's late! It's late! For a very important date! I've had deadlines this week, so even though this chapter was written, I had no time to proofread and edit, so sorry about that. Still, you get a new chapter tomorrow too, which is a shame, because I'd just achieved as many reviews as chapters... Oh well, I'm sure people like this story really. I like this story, or at least I like writing it. Aya just likes being written, I guess. Anyway, have a new chapter, Hope y'all enjoy!**

**Training**

Aya felt as though her head had barely touched the pillow when the morning bell woke her. Sitting bolt upright, she glared at the imposition of daylight onto what had been a comfortable sleep.

"Lora," she mumbled, getting to her feet. She got no response from behind the screen where her maid slept. How could she sleep through the Waking Bell? Peering behind the screen, she saw a snarl of blankets and heard a persistent snoring. Rolling her eyes – shouldn't her maid wake up when she did? – she pulled on some loose breeches and tunic before slouching out of her room.

Sofiya and a scowling Josie met her at the end of the girls' wing.

"You are not used to mornings, Queenscove," Sofiya commented, eyes twinkling.

Aya mumbled something incoherent, blinking indignantly.

"You'll just have to get used to it," Josie explained with a scowl.

If it were later in the day, Aya would have explained to the blonde girl that _she_ would just have to get used to talking civilly with her fellow pages, but her mind was a fog.

Sofiya slung a friendly arm around the smaller girl's shoulder and steered her down the corridor.

"She's right," the older girl commented. "You won't get far in training if you're half asleep."

"More than half," she responded with a yawn. "Gods, they really mean discipline, don't they?"

"You're as bad as Josh," a disgustingly cheery voice announced. Aya recognised the irascible Liam of Nond – the page who had cheeked Lady Hannah the night before. Beside him, Joshua of Irenroha swayed slightly, looking ready to fall asleep where he stood.

"How late did you keep him up?" Sofiya asked, one eyebrow raised. Liam rolled his eyes.

"Girls," he shook his head. "We had a party of course. Me, Edmond, Josh, Seanus and a few others."

"And now the new pages are all dead on their feet," Sofiya surmised, shaking her head in exasperation. A tiny part of Aya was a little hurt at being left out, but mostly she was just grateful that she'd gotten any sleep at all the night before.

Breakfast passed in a blur. She would have eaten nothing if Sofiya hadn't pressed her to. As it was, her toast with marmalade and melon slice sat heavily in her stomach. She really didn't go in for mornings.

_'A warrior works when she's told to work',_ she remembered the strict lessons of her Aunt Kel, who took Yamani discipline seriously.

Channelling her godsmother's ruthless work ethic, she finished her breakfast without complaint and struggled out to the practice courts.

Standing beside Lady Hannah was one of the biggest men Aya had ever seen. At least 6 foot tall, he was broader than Aya and Josie put together, with muscle rippling under plain his black shirt and breeches. Completely bald on top, he wore his beard clipped short around his nose and mouth and his black eyes scanned the pages as they entered the practice courts, the older ones sweating already in their harnesses.

"First years, gather round," Hannah barked out the order like a field marshal. Instantly, the new pages were crowded around the formidable pair. "This is Oldin Quashigh – your instructor in staff, sword and archery training. He's one of the finest swordsmen you're ever likely to meet – listen to him and you'll find you may survive your first years as a knight."

If Oldin was as ruthless as Hannah, he hid it well. In fact, while their training mistress turned to round on the older pages, he waved towards Sofiya and Edmond, both of whom grinned back. Turning to the new pages, he smiled.

"We'll get to staff work soon enough," he told them, his voice far softer than Aya had been expecting. "But first you need to warm up. I want five laps around the training yard."

As one boy – Leon of Nicoline – began to groan, Oldin raised a sharp eyebrow.

"If you like, you can join the older pages?" he offered smoothly. "Their laps are around this training yard and the next one ten times. It's up to you."

Blinking in surprise, Leon shook his head and the five first years began their laps.

Soon, Aya was glad she'd eaten breakfast. The yard was small, but she was already aware of how much work she'd have to do that day. She liked running well enough and kept up with the other pages easily. The boys and Josaline began to race on the final lap, but she didn't see the point in wasting her energy. She felt she knew how the next part of the training would go and she wanted to be ready.

Coming steadily to a halt a good 30 seconds behind everyone else, she offered a bland smile as the boys stared at her. The look Josie gave her could sour milk. Oldin, in contrast, looked approving as he offered her a smile. Of all the pages, she was the only one not gasping for breath.

"Well, now your blood's racing, we'll start you on sit-ups," he announced with an evil smile. Groaning, the pages collapsed to their backs to begin the exercise.

* * *

By the time the pages had finished their warm up exercises, only Aya looked alive. Her training at home had been eratic at best, but one thing that had been drilled into her was stamina. When she took her staff and paired up against Joshua of Irenroha, her hands were steady, while his trembled. She let her mind wander while Oldin talked them through the most basic blocks and strikes. She had a long way to go with the staff, she knew, but she was ahead of the other pages. Really, she was doing the right thing in allowing them to catch up with her. She didn't want to show off, after all.

"High, middle, low," Oldin called out as the first years settled into a drill. Once or twice, someone would drop a staff or yell in pain as their fingers were caught, but Aya was able to keep control of herself and Josh. Once, when the boy struck her fingers, he was so tired and his blow so weak that it barely twinged. When Hannah paced the lines, adjusting people's stances and grips, she nodded in approval at Aya and moved straight on.

Feeling  
incredibly smug at the end of the drill, she clapped Josh on the shoulder and moved with the others to the archery court.

* * *

As Aya headed indoors to begin their written lessons, muscles screaming in protest, her one-time smugness was a distant hallucination. Passing Josie, she winced as the other girl smirked at her. Was it her fault that the mount she'd selected – a pretty bay mare named Whisper – was the prickliest creature on this earth? Or that the bow she'd used at home was far smaller and easier to draw? Or that by the time they reached the unarmed combat courts, her muscles were so much jelly and she could barely do the basic exercises _without_ an opponent at the other end of them?

She gave a startled jump as a big hand rested on her shoulder.

"Come on Queenscove," Edmond steered her towards their first class. "Nobody does well on their first day."

She wanted to sit by Sofiya, but their mathematics tutor insisted on having the first years at the front of the room. Her ego, which had been so bashed by a volley of failures on the practice courts, was considerably soothed in that hour, where she was quickly promoted to a third-year level. The work she was given to do was hard, certainly, but with Sofiya, Edmond and one of their friends – Seanus of Dissart – she learned quickly.

She resisted the urge to turn and gloat at Josie. She really didn't want any enemies here.


End file.
